


the quiet mind

by imshi



Series: these volatile times [2]
Category: Norse Mythology, Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imshi/pseuds/imshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>loki knows what's coming for him, what lies in wait. all that remains is to face it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the quiet mind

**Author's Note:**

> title, following on from the first in this series, from an iamx song of the same name.  
> series name from another iamx song (because why not), volatile times.

Loki has seen the future. Knows what lies in wait, coiled above him in the darkness, mouth gaping, fangs dripping. Feels the slide of death on his face and opens himself to its embrace, knowing that it can never touch him.

He can feel the shudder of the earth as he bucks and twists.

Thor too has seen. Loki knows this because he has seen it in his eyes, a sudden sparking out of hope. He knows because Thor no longer opens his mouth to beg, lips set in a grim, cold line. Thor no longer hesitates. His blows come hard, fast, unrelenting. 

Loki feels victory, deep in his bones, curling in his heart, echoing through the great gulf that separates him and his brother. It tastes like stale water and bitter poison (sense memories from things not yet come to pass) but it is there. He can feel the pain too (an echo, an old wound not yet made). 

Lightning crackles through him, and it stings and he welcomes it, like a recharge, emptying himself of everything except the power of Thor. He would curse himself, curse Thor, and he knows he will later for submitting, for accepting the thrill of pure elemental power that Thor gives him, that he will always give him. But for now, it is glorious. It shines and all else seems dark in comparison.

His own fire, pale green and wan against the glare of lightning, so bright it hurts to look at. There is nothing he knows that can stand against that glare, so he gives in. Lets the flames flicker and die around his hands and stands, swaying from the force of Thor’s blows, smiling blankly. Thor hits harder; there is electricity crackling in his hair, haloing his head. He has his mouth open, wide and roaring, screams and screams, and this is how it was before but it is also new.

Because Thor is screaming in pain, in anger and horror and why won’t you fight back, and there are tears streaming down his face and Loki knows that now Thor understands what it feels like to be broken. To be ripped apart from the inside out, to have everything that makes you what you are shattered.

There’s blood on his chin, streaming from split lips, a broken nose. He can feel it, taste its copper on his tongue.

Thor is the embodiment of beautiful rage and through the lightning, Loki reaches out to him. Takes a staggering step through the column that reaches down to him from the sky, a deadly spotlight, just on him. For once he is the centre of attention. So he steps forward, foot after foot toward Thor who can do nothing but stand in mute horror, voice burned out, truly voiceless for the first time.

Loki puts his hand through the edge of the lightning, his bones visible through his skin, glowing eerily red so that it seems like his hand is burning, melting, white hot metal instead of flesh. He turns his hand over. A final gesture of conciliation, an acknowledgement of their tie, of their brotherhood and their more than brotherhood.

Thor takes his hand.

The lightning stops.

Loki sways.

Thor twists his grip so that he can step forward and crush Loki in a hug that hurts more than any physical blow could. Their hands are trapped between their bodies, Thor’s fingers digging into Loki’s hand. He wonders somewhere in the back part of his mind whether he will have bruises there later. A mark of his surrender, different to the other marks that Thor has left on his body, from fighting, from fucking.

Cold metal snakes around their hands, binding them together. Loki knows how it goes from here. Knows it from the past and the future. The cold, appraising stares of the Aesir and the Vanir, gathered together to sentence him to his final fate. The fate that he cannot and will not escape.  


•••

  
The cave is cold. Royal blue flickers at the ends of Loki’s fingertips, his magic wavering and crackling as it buckles under the spells that Odin laid on him. The cord that binds him to the rock is cold too. For the first time in his life he becomes truly achingly aware of the chill that seeps through his bones. It is damp and subterranean.

He becomes aware of the darkness as well. Aware that real darkness is more than simply the absence of light but a thing in itself. Something alive which writhes and moves in the darkness that is absence of light.

Loki stares and as he stares the darkness resolves itself into a shape, a coiled body, a mouth, long fangs curved down toward him. He hears the hiss and feels the shudder of déjà vu, feels the drip and the burn of the venom. The burn, the burn. Like nothing he could believe. That column of lightning, those centuries of empty echoing ache, the rage and the fire, distilled into a single drop.

It fades nearly as quickly as it began and he can feel the earth shake in the aftershock of his desperate and unconscious attempt at flight. He feels time stretch in front of him; settles down to wait for its end.


End file.
